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My family name is written in green marker across the side of the box. I stare at it. These are papers women in my family decided mattered enough to keep, then another group of women decided mattered enough not to throw away.

Scarlet’s hand settles between my shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “Possibly.”

Theo stands beside me without reaching for the flaps. He waits.

I slide my fingers beneath the cardboard and open the box. The first layer contains flower-show programs, Garden Guild newsletters, and photographs of women standing beside arrangements large enough to conceal minor crimes.

Nothing is dated in order. Naturally.

I pull nitrile gloves from my field bag and divide the folding table into four sections. “Family. Garden Guild. Plants and routes. Unknown.”

Scarlet takes out her phone. “Photograph before moving?”

“Please.”

Theo checks the shed windows and doorway without hovering over my shoulder. His attention moves between the road, the box, and me. A low purr lives beneath his breathing, quiet enough that Ms. Silver may not notice, steady enough that my omega does.

My phone buzzes beside the family pile.

EZRA: It was Ms. Silver in the garage with a candlestick.

I glance toward the woman standing six feet away. A smile pulls at my mouth.

Ezra stayed at the house with Wes’s spare camera feed open and the dock water moving close enough to keep him solid. He argued that he could come. Theo agreed. Then Ezra considered the flooded road, the storage shed with no plumbing, and the person who watched our cemetery gate during the storm. He chose the camera feed.

ME: It’s a broom. Get it right.

EZRA: So close.

Theo glances at me. “He good?”

“He’s joking, so he’s fine.”

Ms. Silver comes closer as I lift the first programs free. “Lorna gave the Guild three boxes after her sister died. Recipes in one. Family papers in another. The third was mostly garden records.”

“Which one is this?” I ask.

“Lorna relabeled all three twice.” Ms. Silver points beneath the folding table. “The other two are still here. This is the one that ended up with most of the family papers.”

“Absolutely diabolical.”

The first useful paper appears inside a 1987 flower-show program. A folded family tree fills the center pages in Aunt Lorna’s slanted handwriting.

I find Jessamine Vines near the top, born in 1871, exactly where the Heritage Hall records place her. A note beside her name mentions botanical specimens and water surveys. The line continues through her daughter, Rose, then to Rose’s daughter, Josephine Vines, born in 1922. Aunt Lorna branches directly beneath Josephine.

“Look at this,” I say.

Scarlet leans closer.

“Josephine Vines. Jessamine’s granddaughter and Aunt Lorna’s mother.”

A small open circle sits beside Josephine’s name. The initials J.V. have been written beneath it.

Scarlet looks at my phone, where the photograph of the Sweet Tooth receipt waits among our evidence. “Another J.V.? Which one got the copy notice?”

“Good question.”